The new phase began Monday evening, when Maggie planted herself on her stoop to smoke, swig beer, dig in her yard, and say aggressive hellos to anyone walking past, including us. What changed?

She lost the house in the divorce and is being forced to sell, with a deadline of November. What type of deadline? I don’t really know. All I know is her social media is full of woe for losing her home, anger at her mean husband (whom she now characterizes as a Juilliard graduate when I really thought forever that he was a NYU graduate just like her) for being cruel, and strange comments to us, the Ditmarstons. Also so much smoking that blows into our open living room windows that it is gross, even for me, an ex smoker who enjoys second-hand smoke.

Last night as I rolled home from a boozy dinner out Maggie said hi, and I said hi, and then she said, “I hope you win” and I said, “Thanks!”

This is a long-running trope she has about me, that I will do anything to win. How I wish that were true. I will do almost anything to sabotage myself, but that’s not how she sees it.

Calvin heard her on the phone to someone who was in prison, and she offered to park his stolen car behind her house to hide it from the cops. This makes so little sense but we are obsessively talking about it.

And she sent me an email late last night inviting us to a party at her house on Sunday (no, aren’t going), and apologizing for upsetting Daisy but no one knows what that means.

I am tempted to say we are in the final segment but a) segments can be very long and very short and b) segments change when you don’t expect it and c) I no longer use the word final about this woman. That’s a fool’s game.